Arctic Fire (30 page)

Stein grinned painfully, as if he wished he didn’t have to answer the question. “My boss, the president of the United States, was,” he hesitated for a moment as he searched for the most appropriate word, “shall we say, well,
emboldened
by his margin of victory in the national election a year ago.”

The formality of Stein’s delivery told Carlson that even though Stein was a consummate Washington insider, he’d never dealt with the guys in the longest, darkest shadows of the intelligence world. That gave Carlson a huge advantage in this meeting.

“Unfortunately,” Stein continued, “and I say this delicately and with all due respect, President Dorn still feels the same way. Emboldened, I mean. He basically believed that his landslide victory gave him a mandate to do pretty much whatever he wanted. And he still does, Roger,” Stein added after a short pause. “I’ve tried to steer him away from situations where he might have gotten ahead of himself and acted more like a bull in a china shop than a polished politician. I think I’ve been successful for
the most part in doing that, and I think the Democratic Party appreciates that I have.” Stein took a deep, obviously frustrated breath. “The problem comes when—” Stein interrupted himself. “
Problem
isn’t a good word in this instance. What I really should have said was that—”

“For Christ’s sake, Rex, leave the fucking bullshit back at the barn.” Carlson could tell he’d shocked Stein with his outburst and instantly put him off his game. The guy looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Maybe he was supposed to be a ballbuster in the West Wing, but he was out of his element here. He wasn’t just groping for words. He was groping for his way. “Say what you have to say. I don’t have the time or the inclination to listen to all this crap. Be blunt, man.”

Stein’s expression turned into one of steely resolve. “Daniel Beckham met with you without my approval. I didn’t see the asset list he presented you with before he presented it to you. A man in your position might get the wrong impression after seeing that list. The second I saw it, well, that was my reaction.” Stein rolled his eyes. “I should say, when I
finally
saw it.”

Carlson masked his grave disappointment. Without realizing it, Stein had just confirmed everything. President Dorn definitely intended to destroy Red Cell Seven. The simple fact that Beckham had been allowed to leave the White House without first showing
that
list to the president’s chief of staff confirmed everything Shane Maddux and his Falcons had heard.

The president had no chance now. Carlson might have been able to stop the attack before…but not now. The assassination was a full-ahead go, and the president was a dead man. Now it was just a question of when and where the shooting would occur.

“Spin that all the way out for me, Rex,” Carlson said calmly. “What are you saying?”

“You know exactly what I’m saying, Roger. I’m saying that President Dorn shouldn’t have let Beckham show you that list. It
was a goddamned huge mistake.” Stein put his hands up and out as a clear indication of diplomacy and contrition. “And the president understands that. I promise you he does.”

Bullshit, Carlson thought to himself. Bull
fucking
shit. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Rex, because, to be honest, I was concerned when I saw that list.
Very
concerned.”

“You don’t need to be anymore, Roger,” Stein said quickly. He shook his head hard. “Sometimes the president acts too quickly. As I said before, for the most part I’ve been able to corral that impulse before it was too late.” He exhaled heavily. “But not in this case.” Stein glanced over at Carlson. “I’m sorry about all of that. But I’m glad we’ve been able to clear it all up before things got out of hand. Maybe the good in the bad is that you and I finally met face-to-face after hearing about each other for so many years.”

Carlson didn’t like Stein alluding to clearing things up before things got out of hand. It could mean that Stein understood exactly how dire the situation was for his boss. And if he could convince the president how dire the situation was, he might even be able to convince Dorn and the Secret Service to be more careful than usual for a while. So careful that Maddux might not be able to get his people in position for the all-important kill shot, which needed to happen sooner rather than later.

“Unfortunately,” Stein kept going, “President Dorn still doesn’t appreciate all that you do and how valuable you are. He says he does, but he doesn’t. However, I guarantee you he will.” He chuckled like what he was about to say was going to sound absolutely ludicrous. “He’s got some pretty crazy notions about what you people do on the side, Roger. I mean, he must be reading some version of the left-wing handbook I’ve never read. It must be the Vermont version. They’re pretty fanatical up there.”

“What kind of crazy notions are you talking about, Rex?”

“He thinks you’re running around the country carrying out vigilante justice. He thinks you’re killing criminals who got off
on technicalities. He thinks you’re torturing American citizens to get information about the activities of others. He basically thinks you’ve become Big Brother or something. It’s all a massive misunderstanding, Roger. I’m taking care of it, I promise.”

Carlson laughed sincerely even though he wasn’t being sincere at all. He’d learned a long time ago how important it was to do that. “We protect American citizens.”

“Of course you do. And he knows that,” Stein assured Carlson. “He just needs a little more time and some more of my coaching.”

“Maybe you can do me a favor, Rex. I’d certainly appreciate it if you would.”

Stein’s eyes ran straight to Carlson’s. “Of course. What do you need? Name it.”

This had been bothering Carlson ever since the president had mentioned it at the end of their last meeting. “Your boss asked me about an individual when he and I last met at the White House. He said there had been an inquiry about him. The individual’s name was Troy Jensen. Can you find out where that inquiry came from and let me know? I sure would appreciate it.”

Stein nodded. “I’ll get you a name as soon as I can, Roger.”

The leader gazed out from the bridge over the five huge refrigerated holds of the massive LNG tanker
Pegasus
. Inside those five holds with the domed tops were two hundred thousand cubic meters of liquefied natural gas. The fireball this ship could instantaneously release would dwarf the explosive power of the
Olympian
, which had somehow failed to destroy Boston. They were still trying to figure out exactly what had happened there. No one at home had yet been able to contact the leader of that ship—or any of the other men who’d been on it.

He picked up his binoculars and scanned the afternoon sky. They were heading toward the Virginia Beach-Norfolk area of Virginia, not, as they were supposed to be, toward the Elba Island regasification facility that was just downriver from Savannah, Georgia. The clandestine change of direction was on the orders of the same man who’d secured the
Olympian
her documentation to sail into Boston Harbor. A man who seemed bent on assisting their group’s goal of destroying an American city with a huge fireball from an LNG tanker.

The beauty of this attack plan was that the Norfolk-Virginia Beach metropolitan area had a population of almost two million people, the ship wouldn’t be subject to any inspections, and he wouldn’t need to present any documentation in order to reach a point near enough to shore to cause incredible damage to that population and its property. It wouldn’t be quite as devastating to the United States as the obliteration of Boston, but the destruction it caused would still be made with an exclamation point. Especially because one of America’s largest naval bases was in Norfolk.

The trouble with this attack plan was that US officials monitored the movement of all LNG tankers that had their bows aimed at American shores. There was a regasification facility farther up the Chesapeake Bay beyond Virginia Beach and Norfolk called Dominion Point Cove, so those officials wouldn’t be surprised by an LNG tanker heading in that direction. Many did. The problem would come when they tried to figure out why the
Pegasus
was heading for Norfolk when it was supposed to be heading for Savannah.

United States military planes ran reconnaissance missions to monitor the progress of LNG ships headed for her shores. And, the leader realized ruefully, those planes would probably be on high alert after the US had intercepted the
Olympian
, which it somehow must have done. So if those planes sighted the
Pegasus
headed in the wrong direction, she would be boarded or blown up before she could get close enough to annihilate the Virginia Beach-Norfolk metro area.

But the man in the United States who they’d been working with claimed he had that covered. He claimed he was giving naval operations in Norfolk wrong information so the
Pegasus
could get close enough to complete her mission. So those planes wouldn’t be looking for an LNG tanker heading for the mid-Atlantic and wouldn’t have her coordinates. So they could literally drive the ship’s bow right up onto the sandy beach, blow her up, and incinerate half a million people.

Maybe more.

“T
HANKS FOR
buying me this coat back in Baltimore.” Karen pulled the heavy down jacket tightly around her slim body. “It’s
freezing
out here.”

“Yeah, it said eleven degrees in the car back at the gas station.”

“And it’s only December. How do people stand it here?”

Jack glanced over at Karen through his crystallizing exhalation. Her black hair was cascading down onto her shoulders in shimmering waves, she’d done her makeup just right, and she was wearing a cool pair of wraparound sunglasses. She looked more like a movie star who should have been walking down the streets of Vail, Colorado, with an entourage than an ex-cop stuck in the frozen northland with a crazy bond trader. But she wasn’t complaining.

Despite being thrown together so intimately so quickly and coming from such different backgrounds, he and Karen were
getting along great. They’d driven over a thousand miles since yesterday morning, but the time had gone quickly for both of them. She’d told him that very directly as they’d crossed into Illinois last night. And he’d agreed immediately. They’d laughed and joked, and in no time, it seemed, they were driving past downtown Minneapolis at midnight.

It had taken them another couple of hours to get up here to Bemidji, where they checked into a quiet, picturesque motel on the outskirts of town just after two a.m. Once again, Jack persuaded the man behind the desk not to take a credit card imprint. Once again, he and Karen stayed in the same room because she wanted to save him money. Once again, there were two beds in the room.

“Welcome to northern Minnesota,” Jack said as he glanced around. “If you don’t like cold and snow, you probably shouldn’t stay long. And you definitely shouldn’t live here.”

The early morning sun was streaming down onto the snow-covered Upper Midwest through a cloudless blue sky. Despite the sunshine, it was brutally cold. Cold but eerily beautiful, and a place Troy probably would have loved, Jack figured.